


Presenting for your entertainment, Blackwatch! The Night Circus!

by Mirdala



Series: Blackwatch Week 2017 [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Circus, Blackwatch Week, M/M, Night Circus - Freeform, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-04 23:40:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11565789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirdala/pseuds/Mirdala
Summary: Blackwatch, the Night Circus is preforming. You have an invitation to the show.





	Presenting for your entertainment, Blackwatch! The Night Circus!

**Author's Note:**

> Blackwatch Week Day 7 - Time off/ AU
> 
> No beta-reader, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Hope everyone had an excellent Blackwatch Week! I may have gotten carried away with this one... I may also continue this.

[ DAY 7 ] TIME OFF / **AU**

 

 

In the afternoon sun, you walk Overwatch’s tents. The sunlight suits this circus. It brings out the gold between the white of the tent’s stripes, the blue of the performers roaming the paths. The cheer and laughter is infectious. You spend your time smiling constantly between gasps of awe. The strong man and woman arm wrestling, lifting objects of increasing weight, and stacks of their fellow performers. Two women are shot out of a canon doing aerobatics in the short time they are airborne. A winter wonder land occupies an entire tent, the ice cream handed to you by a woman with glasses giggles when you comment about having to eat it quickly given the weather. It doesn’t melt you discover and it’s possibly the best you’ve ever had. At the main tent, a DJ dancing in green light controls the upbeat tempo of the acrobatics. People fly across the big top in a dance you watch with wide eyes and amazement. Bottles are shot to pieces by the ringmasters but the woman with the beret bests the square jawed man whose laugh bounces around the tent. Even a few animals appear, a gorilla that solves puzzles and builds contraptions to achieve its goal of peanut butter procurement. The rest of the day is entrenched with uplifted spirits. But then night falls and the merriment leaves you suddenly, a hallow appears that you didn’t expect. The bubbly atmosphere pops and you’re left standing bewildered. Around you, circus goers are still walking with wide smiles and shining eyes. You suddenly feel out of place. While you had been showered with warm sunlight you were unable to retain any of its joy. Slipping your hand into your jacket as your footsteps patter quickly away from the circus, your fingers brush against an envelope.

There is a secret about the Overwatch Circus, it has a shadow that follows it from town to town. City to city. A shadow that has a name unto itself. It’s scrawled elegantly on the invitation tucked into your jacket, **_Blackwatch the Night Circus_**. A friend had handed it to you over drinks a week ago. It’s not like a regular circus, go to the day time one and you’ll see, they had said with a knowing smile. The night circus, they whispered to you, was for people like us, dark creatures of the night. You laughed along with them at their dramatics. You also didn’t question how they got the invitation in the first place. Didn’t you just buy tickets to enter at the gate?

You meet them after leaving Overwatch. She is late, as is her nature. Although she promises she was here all along. Your friend hair dyed purple with the side of her head buzzed. She waves to get your attention, purple nails that match her hair glinting the light. Together, as you listen to her tell you about her day, hand your invitations to the man at the gate. There are fewer tents but at each one you stare openly inside. He is bald and bare chested, his skin flawless but for the three by three dots tattooed on his forehead. His body is fluid as it bends and twists into knots. He contorts his body into shapes, into boxes or aloft by just the single digits of his hands, all the while his face remains expressionless. In harmony with his actions. Another tent holds a woman strung up by ropes, face also impassive. She is stunningly beautiful as she dances in midair. A living puppet. Switching from fluid graceful movements to quick lurching motions that remind you of a spider. At times she struggles against her binds. Fights for her freedom. Painful looking yanks and jolts lock her back into the dance. Thrown across the small stage, lifted with limbs being pulled in opposite directions. You can’t look away, not understanding why she is being tormented so. She has tears running down her face. So you do, as you watch. You miss the rest of the tents, your friend tugging you to the main tent. It’s going to start soon, she hums with excitement. As you enter a man stops you.

“Keep this safe for me.” His voice is soft but clear, dark eyes reflecting the red in the torches that light the grounds. He places his hand on your shoulder, sweeping it down your arm while also lifting it as he goes until your open hand is eye level. Gently he ties a string to your wrist connected to a black matte balloon. “Enjoy.”

You stand in the aisle looking for seats. The ring around the center stage holding seats isn’t large. There are three rows of seats that encircle the tent. Worried about your balloon blocking others you and your friend take seats near the aisle, to the back.

 _Good evening ladies and gentlemen to Blackwatch, the circus preformed in darkness. Be warned, if your heart has ever fainted, this performance is not for you. By choosing to stay you’ve decided your fate and whatever dreams may haunt you from this day forth is your own doing._ _Welcome to the kingdom over which I rule._

The voice is loud but not amplified by electronics. It resonates in your chest. Each word is clear and spoken unrushed. The voice comes from everywhere with no exact source. The voice belonging to the man who tied the balloon to your wrist.

A beam of light falls on a man, the man, in the center of the ring. He stands not in the simple dark grey clothing he had at the entrance but in a classic ring masters coat. White instead of red, with long tails and a top hat. The wide collar of his red shirt encircles his neck, caresses his face as he speaks to the tent turning in a clockwise fashion. 

_Tonight, will not be of a lover turned killer, or a prince turned villain. This night is of tales from the East and the West. Of demons, some we create for ourselves and others we choose follow to the flames of hell._

His mouth moves, the lips form the words but the voice still inundates you from all around. Cutting through your thoughts, freezing you in place, eyes fixated on the Ringmaster. Smoke billows out from under his coat, not white fog smoke but black inky smoke. Smoke that chokes and clings. He is gone.

_First is the tale of two brothers, majestic dragons that together create balance in the heavens._

The beam of light now resting on the empty ring center rises far above into the heights of the tent.

_One of the Northwind._

A man in green bows on his platform to the crowd. The tail of his dark grey bandana flutters as he turns then leaps into the air. The crowd inhales together sharply. He vanishes into the darkness.

_One of the Southwind._

The light blinks out then beams onto another man on a platform, opposite of the former. A gold ribbon, tying his long black hair, lazily follows in the air as he too bows to the crowd. Following his brother, he too leaps into the darkness, muscled arms outstretched body arced beautifully. The light beckons your eyes to the center again.

A single rope, a swing without a seat, does not come to a graceful curve of a u-shape as it should. Instead it cradles the Ringmaster’s back, keeping him aloft, creating a sharp angle where his booted foot presses against it, the other boot resting casually on his straight locked knee.

_Like all brothers, they quarreled. One vied for control, the other for freedom._

Out of the darkness the brothers reappeared. Each grasping opposite side of the swing tethers. One by the head, the other by the foot of the Ringmaster. Their momentum spins them, twining the rope that holds the Ringmaster. The rope twisted, the brothers bring up their feet and kick off each other. The rope twirls in the opposite direction. With the added counter weights of the brothers, they whirl faster than before. The rope snaps up when fully unwound. The Ringmaster is tossed into the air while the brothers are flung into the darkness once again. Rotating in the air, the Ringmaster tucks his feet beneath him, hand reaching to the rope.

Your body relaxes when his feet plant securely on the rope, your eyes narrow and blink rapidly to the adjust as the top of the tent is fully illuminated. The Ringmaster stands swinging as the brothers flip and tumble in the air around him. They dive between the rope swing above the Ringmaster before grasping the bar the other just left.

As the brothers fly in the air they begin to blur. Their colored forms elongate as they whip back and forth above the center ring. In midair their bodies slam together. The crowd and yourself let out a collective cry of shock. Two astral dragons erupt into flight from the clash. They shimmer and shine, one green and one blue, around the entirety of the tent. They roar and swoop low towards the crowds’ heads. Against better judgment you reach a hand out. Your fingers graze against the green dragon’s long body, the slight resistance pressing back jolts your hand away. A tug at your wrist has the matte black balloon caught in the dragon’s passing form.

_Overcome with rage at his insolent brother, the dragon of the Southwind struck a fatal blow during an argument._

The dragons meet back in the middle snarling and snapping at each other. The roll together fighting. Thuds of bodies slamming into each other echo in your chest. Dread starts to fill your stomach. The dragon of the Southwind hits its mark. Its jaws sink in deep and tear away a part of his brother’s form. The green dragon wails in pain. It’s form falters. Vanishes.

_The dragon of the Southwind realized his actions too late to rectify._

Form also dissipating, the other brother lands haphazardly on his platform. Whipping around wildly. His stills as he sees his brother. The man with green hair is carried by the arms of inertia to a height that grips your heart with fear. He plummets.

 “Brother!” It’s heart wrenching to watch. You see the distance the brothers are apart. The speed at which one falls and the other dives, hand reaching out to grab any limb of the man in green it can. A hand, an arm, a leg, a foot. You know as the brother in blue reaches he can’t make it. You know in your soul. Their hands don’t even touch. Don’t brush past each other. There is only the hallowed thud of the brother, struck down by his own blood, hitting the center ring floor.

Darkness envelopes the tent, light remaining only on the ringmaster in his swing, the brother on his platform body shaking with cries of agony and the brother on the ground laying deathly still.

_The great dragon having killed his brother was overcome with sorrow. And hate. Wishing for death, he threw himself from the heavens._

With an angry roar, the brother leaps of this stand.

_He was not allowed to die._

The spotlight follows his form, widening to show the tendrils of dark ropes latching onto him. They wrap around his arms and legs. Slowly making their way to wind around his torso. The ropes lower him to the ground. His brother’s body is also swallowed by the smoke like ropes and pulled away out of sight. Struggling the enraged brother is further wrapped with ropes. They snake over him until his form is completely hidden. His struggles do not cease.

_Instead he became a demon as punishment for his deeds._

Snaps and rips echo across the tent. The ropes heave. A blue-gray skinned demon bursts forth. Horns pointed and eyes white hot.

_Disaster befell the world._

The demon roars an inhumane and unholy sound. It causes you to grasp your friend’s hand. The ropes writhe around him before floating into the air. They swirl around him as he screams creating a tornado of darkness. The darkness mutates forming snakes with red eyes. You reel back inhaling sharply. A boom rocks your bones and explodes the dark snakes into the crowd.

Screams fill the air.

 

_ /\/\  _

“This is a tale much closer to my heart. Of an Angel of Death who sought retribution on the wicked.”

 Light shines onto the Ringmaster standing center stage. His voice, while loud and carries across the tent, doesn’t retain the source less quality it had previously.

“For centuries, this angel fought without mercy. With grace and genius.”

 The spotlight widens to show the entire ring. Surrounding the Ringmaster are people of various looks and stature. All are armed. Together they attack. The Ringmaster, the angel of death, weaves between their strikes. Nothing touches him. His strike although slam home. Coattails snapping behind him as he spins. He leaps over and under. Between and around his assailants. None are left standing, only one is left moving. Slowly the angel approaches.

“Standing over a young man the angel paused. This young soul was like so many others. A darkness was taking root but perhaps there could be redemption. The angel gave the young man a choice. Fight with him and he would spare the young man’s life. Kill the wicked for the good.”

 The Angel reached out a hand to the young man. He wore a brown wide brimmed hat. The man looked at the out reached hand. Spurs on his feet clinked when he stood, his hand clasping the Angel’s.

“Knowing the demons they would face. The Angel decided it would be best to arm his new companion.”

Out of his coat the Angel produced a pistol. The revolver reflected the light shining down into the crowd as the man inspected it. His bearded face broke into a smile as he twirled and spun the revolver in his hand. His hands danced over the metal making it leap over his shoulder, swiping it from the air behind his back. The smile is still on his face when he holsters it soundly. The Angel sighs and you smile as the gunslinger struts around with his thumbs looped in his belt.

“Together they killed the wicked men of the world. Together they snuffed out dens of evil. Together they burned righteously.”

Around them dark shapes begin to form out of the shadows. They screech and shriek. They claw and slash at the fighters. A white horse makes its way around the center ring. It doesn’t stop as it spirals in, the gunslinger dashes beside it and swings himself into the saddle. He rolls from the saddle to the side horse fires hitting the devils that threat the Angel. Rolling up and over the other side as the horse makes it way around, he continues to strike down the wicked. Once seated properly, the Angel is lifted onto horse behind the gunslinger. For the first time this night, your heart is light. It flutters as the two shoot with accuracy and precision. The malicious shades give chase. Some run. Some leap. Some, to your horror, levitate.

The Angel and gunslinger work together spectacularly. A devil swoops down upon them. The gunslinger and Angel both dive to the side hanging perpendicular to the ground, tops of their heads nearly grazing the ground as the horse thunders on. The gunslinger returns to the saddle, while the Angel continues on the side upside down, shooting every devil they pass. The gunslinger pops up, feet on the saddle and takes aim at the flying demons. The shots ring out and screeches follow. He reaches a hand down and pulls the Angel back up. They fire at their targets standing face to face. Each mark falls. They drop avoiding an attack from above. The gunslinger stretches his arm out. Click. Shock flashes across this face. The Angel throws himself backward, back to back with the horse. His twin shotguns fire halting the two devils in midair from a leap. The gunslinger laughs and rolls over the Angel who simultaneously swings to the side to provide space. Now the Angel is at the reins while the gunslinger reloads. The horse leaps over a charging set of shades. The gunslinger absorbs the force and uses it to leap from the horse. He rolls into a tumble. He springs up and fires. Fanning the hammer of his six shooter.

The crowd cheers.

“The angel looked upon the young soul proudly, the darkness in his heart diminished.”

The Angel hops down from the horse and walks to the gunslinger who has taken off his hat bowing to the crowd.

“Maybe, the angel thought, he could save—“

The shot silences everything. The gunslinger turns to see the Angel raise a hand to his chest. It covers a hole straight into his heart. The Angel makes a stumbled step forward.

“Gabriel!” The gunslinger dashes to him.

The Angel gets two more steps. “Jesse…”

“He went down right into my arms. My angel. My saving grace. Heavy and bleedin’.”

The gunslinger cradles the Angel. Pressing his hand over the hole in the Angel’s chest. His eyes are panicked. You are wringing your hands together. Leaning forward. Eyes also filled with panic.

“How do I save you? Tell me what to do!”

The gunslinger caresses the Angel’s face. The Angel presses into the touch, closing his eyes.

“Find my heart. See with a dead eye.”

A shaky hand leaves the hole in his chest to touch the gunslinger. The hand covers an eye, the gunslinger screams in pain. The hand falls. Carefully the gunslinger rises to his feet half of his face smeared with blood. He pulls his revolver and reloads. Each clink of an empty casing hitting the ground reaches your ears. The gunslinger ignores the golden glimmer they alight around his feet. You can’t see his face anymore. He had dipped it, brim of his hat low. You see it when his head snaps up. The eye. Dead. With blood of an Angel around it. It’s black as the darkness he and Angel fought. Black as the balloon tethered to your wrist. It happens so fast. In-between the blinks of your eyes. He fires six shots into the crowd. In the flashes of the shot you see what he does. Five black matte balloons within the crowd, six including yours. Each barely half a foot from the heads of their anchors. When he turns to you, you relax. You have no fear. You stare him back into his eyes, one dead black, one lined with tears.

The balloon pops.

The trail of the bullet didn’t graze your hair or even move a strand. Only the soft plop of a golden orb into your lap draws your attention. Reaching out you pick up the orb. It’s warm and when you stare at it deeply, it sings to you.

“Darlin’.” The voice pulls you from the warm glow of the orb in your hands. A sudden jolt of protectiveness has your hands curl the orb to the chest. He looks to you with his hand out. He isn’t going to take it. It is your choice to give it to him or not.

“Do you love him?” You ask looking at the Angel on the ground in the middle of the tent.

“With all that I am.” You gently reach out and place the orb in his hand. Before he can pull it away or you release it completely, you pull yourself up from your seat into his space, yanking his hand grasping the orb to your chest. He steps forward brushing your cheek with his free hand.

“Save him.” He’s gone as your hand falls to your side. Gasps from the crowd snap your gaze to the Angel. Dark hands are latching on his legs. He struggles against them. They start to pull him out of the light.

“Gabriel!” The gunslinger calls out. He jumps over seats and the railing for the center ring. Dark figures seep out of the darkness and form between him and the Angel. Shots ring out, devils scream as they vanish into nothing. But the gunslinger is too late. His angel is gone. The gunslinger falls to his knees and cries clutching the yellow orb to his chest.

 

_ /\/\  _

 

Stepping out of the tent, you’re shell shocked. Your heart is in shreds.

“What’d you think? Going to come back tomorrow to see the rest of the show?” Your friend pulls her long coat to hug her form.

“There’s more?”

“There’s always more, mi amiga.”


End file.
